


To Win

by Pattyesque



Category: Law & Order
Genre: F/M, For the Defense AU, Gen, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pattyesque/pseuds/Pattyesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While cross-examining Marcus Woll in "For the Defense," Mike suggests that Connie was the murderer. What if he was right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Win

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mazkeraide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazkeraide/gifts).



It doesn’t hit him until he has Woll on the stand.

For weeks now, ever since Woll had reappeared, something has been itching at the back of his brain. Something about this case wasn’t quite right, wasn’t quite fitting together, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. He figured it was paranoia, at first. It’s Woll, of course it is. They have evidence and motive, and the man is certainly slimy enough. Still, though, the back of his brain keeps itching.

It got worse when Connie agreed to testify as a co-conspirator. The itching, that is. And everything else. Mike has never kidded himself about how he feels about Connie, but even he hadn’t expected the punch in the gut he received when Woll oh so delicately told him that he and Connie had slept together. It caused an unease and a sharp pain somewhere in his abdomen that a beat-around-the-bush conversation with Jack couldn’t cure. The only benefit to all of this is that it gave him a razor-sharp focus. He _has_ to get Woll. For Connie. It dulled the itching at the back of his mind, the itching that was telling him that he was missing something, that he had missed a dot and the complete picture he currently had didn’t make sense. It was still there, certainly, and stronger than before, but he could ignore it as long as he was trying to help Connie.

And so the weeks passed. He and Connie spent an awkward evening in the office, prepping her testimony. It was painful for him, trying to talk about her relationship with Woll as if it didn’t bother him, as if he didn’t care on a personal level, especially when Connie looked so defeated and lost. So painful that he failed miserably at doing so, overstepping the professional boundaries he has always steadfastly maintained with female colleagues. Boundaries he maintained before he worked with Connie, anyway.

“It was dumb,” he told her. “You’re not dumb.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice free of anything resembling gratitude or appreciation. “You know, maybe somebody else should be handling this trial.”       

He tried to shrug it off, laughed a little. He knew he wasn’t fooling her, but he wasn’t lying to Jack when he said he didn’t sleep with coworkers. So he kept up the charade to salvage their professional relationship.

“Afraid you’re stuck with me,” he replied.

Connie did well on the stand, a fact that didn’t surprise Mike in the slightest. And he couldn’t pretend that, for a moment at least, the pain that had been sitting in his gut ever since Woll had uttered the words, “Just do it. I did,” was abated when Connie dismissed her affair with Woll as being unmemorable.        

But now that his concern for Connie was lessened, the itching at the back of his mind came back stronger than ever. He was missing something, something his brain was telling him was right in front of him, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Only once, the night before Woll’s testimony, did he let the itching get the better of him. He took out all of his notes on the case, skimmed through documents and statements, and still everything made sense. It was Woll. Of course it was Woll. There was no other explanation.

It doesn’t hit him until he has Woll on the stand.       

He’s waited weeks for this, months even. He’s faced vicious murderers, wealthy people kidnapping children as slave labor, and yet he’s never wanted to take anyone down as badly as he wants to take down Marcus Woll. It’s not necessarily a fact he’s proud of, but it doesn’t surprise him. He’s never kidded himself about his feelings for Connie.

He’s so intent on taking down Woll, on bringing him to his knees, that’s it’s a complete slap in the face when it hits him, and for a moment his brain freezes, and he worries that he’ll be standing there in the courtroom, staring into space, a look of utter bemusement on his face. He can swear that his heart stops.      

It hadn’t hit him in the days leading up to Woll’s testimony, when he had planned his cross-examination. He had planned this line of questioning, of course. His only goal with it, really, was to force Woll to pave the way for him to introduce the other murders into the trial. Throwing around the idea that Connie was the murderer, it was just a means to an end. It certainly wasn’t a theory he took seriously, and he didn’t expect the jury to either. He was right about the latter.   

He throws it out haphazardly, maybe she told Eddie Rice where to find Henry Lovett, he tells Woll, maybe she did it to help you. But the way his brain stops after the words leave his mouth, the way the constant itching at the back of his brain suddenly stops, is anything but haphazard. And suddenly the missing dot is there.        

It’s Connie.

He manages to recover before anyone notices anything, and does a satisfactory cross examination, one that will win his case. Connie meets him back at the office and congratulates him on a good cross. Jack offers them drinks in his office, and they spend a few hours talking, about the case and about other stuff, joking around and basking in the glory of a soon-to-be-won case. Mike thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of acting normal, except for the fact that his eyes keep landing on Connie, watching her closely. He tries to reconcile what he sees, the friendly, caring woman laughing openly at one of Jack’s jokes, with the realization he had in court – a murderer.

Connie catches his eye, and they’re stuck staring at each other, and Mike can sense Jack’s smug smile without having to see it.

Not long after, Mike announces that he has some old paperwork he needs to catch up on, and retreats to his office. He locks both doors and takes out all the same files he had the night before, all the notes and witness statements and police reports. He doesn’t skim them, this time, he reads slowly and carefully, rereading some sentences two or three times just to be sure. But it doesn’t take long to confirm what he had already figured out in court, what his subconscious had apparently figured out weeks before – all the same evidence that connects Woll to the crimes can also implicate Connie. They had always known that she was the one to make the phone call to Henry Lovett, but they had only ever seen it as her being an unwitting participant of Woll’s premeditation. And maybe Woll figured out what hotel Paige Regan was staying at because Connie chose one that they had used in the past, or maybe the explanation was a simpler one – Connie put up Paige in the hotel, and Connie told the hitman where to find her. Maggie Hayes is the only one that doesn’t make sense to him – but then, perhaps Woll was guilty of _something_. He hopes so.

The only thing that the various documents connected to the case can’t give him answers to is motive, and he can’t for the life of him figure out what Connie would get out of killing these witnesses. He briefly considers the theory he posited in court, that Connie was in love with Woll, still is in love with Woll, and is committing all these murders for him. Or perhaps they’re working together. But that theory doesn’t sit right with him. Connie’s disdain for Woll seemed genuine, and Woll certainly doesn’t seem like the type of guy to let himself get convicted if he could just as easily shift the blame on to someone else.

And so he wonders. He spends the next few days in a sort of haze, uncertain of what to do. He considers bringing it to Jack, but dismisses the idea quickly. He knows how it would end. He would tell Mike to take some time off, go home and rest, maybe get out of town for a few weeks. Come back when you have a clear head. And Mike wouldn’t blame him. Their evidence against Woll is overwhelming, while this theory about Connie can at best be considered a wild hunch. This, he tells himself, is the reason he doesn’t drop the charges against Woll, why he does nothing to postpone jury deliberation for a few days. Maybe this is just the crazed theory of an overworked, exhausted mind. He can’t be sure.

Except that he is sure, because as the last few days of the trial pass, Connie begins to smile at him differently. The smiles she usually shoots his way are sweet and somewhat knowing, while this one – well. It’s still knowing, but with a slight sinisterness that Mike can’t ignore. A seductiveness that wasn’t there before. Almost instantly, he’s aware that she’s figured him out. That she knows that he knows, and she’s testing him. Daring him to do something about it. And, more alarmingly, knowing absolutely that he won’t do a damn thing.

Mike tries not to think about it. They make a deal with Rainey, and then Woll’s trial ends. It takes less than two hours for the jury to come back with a guilty verdict. Mike tries not to think about it. Because as much as he likes to tell himself that he was just going by the evidence, he knows that’s not why he let Woll be convicted. Woll may be slimy, and he most certainly had a hand in Maggie Hayes’ murder, but every time Mike finds himself staring at Connie, he knows for a fact that Woll didn’t commit the crime he’s been convicted of. He wishes he could say that he’s protecting Connie, but when she catches his eye and smiles at him with that new smile of hers, he also knows for a certainty that she doesn’t need protection. She smiles at him that way, with that spark of wickedness, and he can’t stop his eyes from wandering down the rest of her body, admiring her neck and the curve of her hips. And when his eyes snap back up to hers, her tongue flickers briefly over her lips, and he can’t stop the smile that he returns to her. A smile that also has a spark of wickedness.

At those moments, he knows _exactly_ why he’s letting Woll sit in jail.

Later on, however, sitting alone in his office with a clearer head, he _knows_ what he has to do. Even if he can’t necessarily bring up his suspicions about Connie yet, he can certainly find some evidence to exonerate Woll. Of course, the man Woll allegedly gave Henry Lovett’s whereabouts to, Eddie Rice, is conveniently dead. The realization of _that_ death causes his blood to turn cold.

_Two murders and one attempted murder_ , he thinks.

Before he can get any further, however, Connie enters his office with a stack of files, all of cases Woll had won as an ADA. Jack had said they were going to have to work all day and all night to get through the paperwork, but it would be more accurately described as numerous days and nights. Mike knew that there was no way he and Connie would be getting out of the office before midnight for the next two weeks.

The idea makes him unbearably anxious.

They sit at the table in his office, and Mike’s thrown off when Connie moves her chair around to sit next to him rather than across from him.

“Makes comparing notes easier,” she explains casually, taking her seat. Besides the smiles, Connie’s behavior has been completely normal. Mike knows that, if it weren’t for those smiles, for the looks they’ve been exchanging since his cross-examination of Woll, he would probably be able to convince himself that the case had simply exhausted him and be able to drop the theory altogether. He wonders why she would give herself away.

They sit for the next half hour in silence, reading over court transcripts and witness statements. Connie does, anyway. Mike spends twenty minutes rereading the same document, unable to focus. His mind is racing. He _knows_ what he has to do. Despite the ruthlessness he has shown in prosecuting cases, he’s always had a strong belief in the fairness of the law. He had no tolerance for people who abused that fairness, who covered up the truth for their own purposes.

His eyes, meanwhile, keep being drawn to Connie’s bare legs.

He’s so lost in thought that he jumps when Connie finally speaks.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” She’s nonchalant, not even bothering to look up from the document she’s reading.

Mike’s mouth is suddenly dry. “‘Why’?”

She looks up at him, and the Connie Rubirosa he’s been working with for the past two years is gone, replaced with a stoic, confident killer.

“That’s what you haven’t been able to figure out. Motive. If you had that, you could probably exonerate Woll. So go ahead. Ask.”

“I don’t want to exonerate Woll,” he says without thinking. The truth of that statement hits him hard. He knows he _has_ to try to exonerate Woll, of course he does. He represents the law, justice. He can’t let that responsibility slide. But there’s not a single bone in his body that _wants_ to exonerate Woll.

Connie shrugs. “Understandable. He’s not an innocent man, don’t get me wrong. He definitely conspired to kill Maggie Hayes, and he royally fucked up our case against Blanco. More than likely he’s killed other witnesses.”

Mike can only nod, and suddenly Connie is shooting him that smile again. That dangerous smile. She moves her chair closer to him, and leans until her mouth is next to his ear.

“That’s not why you don’t want to exonerate him though, is it?” she asks, her breath on his ear sending chills up his spine. She reaches over and begins undoing his tie. Mike suddenly finds that he’s lost the ability to breathe.

“Locking up a man for a crime he didn’t commit and hiding a murderer’s crimes,” she whispers, slipping his tie off and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. “What would your boy McCoy say?”

Then her lips are on his neck, and it’s enough to jolt Mike out of his stupor. “Why?” he chokes out.

She looks back up at him, eyebrow arching. “Why do you do what you do, Mike?”

The questions throws him off. “What do you mean?”

She rolls her eyes. “Why did you forge a coroner’s report? Why did you force a mentally ill man into having a psychotic break?”

There’s a pause, and the air in the room is the thickest Mike has ever experienced in his life. Connie’s face is only inches away from his, and they don’t take their eyes off each other for a second. They speak at the same time.

“To win.”

She’s unbuttoned half his shirt now, and slipped her hand underneath. Mike knows she can feel the rapid beating of his heart.

“You killed two people, and tried to kill Paige Regan...to win?” He tries to sound surprised, disgusted, but knows he just sounds breathless. Alarmingly, he understands the motive.  To an uncomfortable extent, an extent that makes him feel ashamed. And he knows that Connie knows that he understands, that he’s not really shocked at all.

“Paige Regan was never going to die. That was just to give us a case against Woll, to help the police connect the dots. Henry Lovett and Eddie Rice though...” She shrugs, that wicked smile coming over her face again.

“You killed Lovett just to help Woll?”

“Now now, don’t get jealous,” she replies. She’s back to whispering in his ear, her hand underneath his shirt still exploring his chest. “No, screw Woll. I helped him put Alvin Jackson away to help my career. Sure, Woll would get the credit for the win, but my name would still be on the case. I was a brand new prosecutor. I had to take any recognition I could get. Lovett was going to ruin that. And Eddie Rice – well, that’s pretty obvious isn’t it?”

“Connie –”

“C’mon, Mike. You understand, I know you do. The rush you get from winning. The thrill. You just became a prosecutor so that, whatever you do to win, no matter how ruthless, can be seen as ‘justice.’ An extra perk.” Her lips are touching his ear.

Mike can’t shake the feeling that he’s drowning. It’s not just his rapid heartbeat, or that he can’t seem to catch his breath. It’s the feeling of absolute dread, that feeling of being able to see the surface, the sunlight, all the precious air that your lungs could be using going to waste, and realizing that you’re not going to get there in time, there’s no way. The feeling that you should be able to yourself, but you can’t. You’re already gone.

“Why are you telling me this?” he manages.

She shrugs. “Why not? Everyone needs a confidant, even killers. And really, no one understands why I do it the way you do.”

“I could use this against you,” Mike says.

“Could you?” she asks, teeth grazing his ear, and suddenly she pulls her hand out of shirt and brings it down to rest on his hand, which is resting on her thigh. He hadn’t even realized...

“So what are you going to do, counselor?” she asks, pushing his hand further up her thigh.

Mike closes his eyes. He thinks about water, water rushing in around him, getting knocked under in a whirlpool, of water filling his lungs until they explode. He thinks about justice and about an incompetent judge forced into retirement. A corrupt governor forced to resign. He thinks about Jack McCoy. What would Jack do?

He knows what Jack would do. Justice at any cost. It might hurt, it may not be entirely fair, but it would be the right thing to do. Vacate the charges against Woll. Tell the police to start investigating Connie. Agree to testify. Whatever it takes. That’s why Jack does what he does. For justice.

And Mike Cutter? Well, he does it to win.

_I’m not Jack McCoy._

As Mike places his hand on the back of Connie’s neck and crushes her lips to his, the last coherent thought he has is of water.   
      
  



End file.
